


Keep My Word

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Patricide, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 01:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9212762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: The throne changes hands in mysterious circumstances and not all is as it seems. Unfortunately it turns out the bargain Lyanna congratulated herself for is, in fact, only the beginning of a night terror in the making.AU! Lyanna's bleeding heart gets her in trouble. A dragon, even bedridden, breaks his fast on the soft hearts of fair maidens.





	

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Me?” Lyanna pointed to herself with more than a smidgeon of confusion. Her other hand still hadn’t let go of the fine silks she’d been inspecting. “Are you certain father should want to see me in his solar?” The squire nodded. Lyanna was not certain what she ought to make of that either. Domeric did not come to fetch her with any sort of regularity. And indeed, she could only raise one eyebrow at this very peculiar occurrence. Turning ever so slightly to look at Rhea Florent whose smile had only dimmed slightly. “I will have to amuse you with that particular account later, my lady.”  

“What a diligent daughter you are,” Rhea laughed throatily, her teasing good-natured if not sisterly. Lyanna responded in kind, and returned her attention to Domeric Bolton and his cutting gaze. That one was all his father. Except for his love of horses.

“Do you know why he wants to see me?” she asked as they made their way down the hallway, walking side by side, as though they were steadfast companions. Lyanna supposed there was some of that to them. But nowhere near enough to merit any attention from him apparently. Domeric gave her a dry look. “At least tell me if he is mad.”  

“Not that I could divine.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her father was not alone. Lyanna greeted the Queen-mother with only slight surprise. The rest of her mind was concentrating on the mystery of this summon. She’d thought that might be father had reconsidered allowing her to remain in King’s Landing because of her disagreement with Richard Lonmouth. But he had deserved it and she had only given him a small lesson. It was not fair that he would never be punished for his discourteous words.

Alas, that did not seem to be the case. Or rather thankfully. If the King’s mother was there, surely father had something else in mind. “Lord father, Your Grace,” her voice broke the somewhat heavy silence. It was fraught with an odd manner of tension, the likes of which she’d never seen before. The uncomfortable silence returned, swelling between the three of them.  Lyanna lowered her gaze to the ground, admitting the skillful weave of the Myrish carpet as she admonished herself for a shocking lack of patience as her father cleared his throat.

“Your lady mother received word from Lady Cassana,” he said at long last, with the effect that all blood drained from Lyanna’s face. She’d been hoping an answer never came. “It seems Robert had taken it upon himself to choose his own bride.” A dry smile formed on her father’s face. “There will be no wedding, after all.” Suppressing a smile, Lyanna swallowed her cry of joy. “Which leaves us few other options.”

She started. He could not mean to sell her into some other like contract. “I’m afraid I do not understand.”

Rickard nodded understandingly. “You could wed a lord of my choosing upon your return to Winterfell,” he said, calm and collected, seemingly impervious to her agitation. “Or you could remain here and wed the Prince.”

Somewhere in the distance thunder rumbled. A gust of wind swept past the thin curtains, shaking them in violent fits. The elder son, she mused. Was that why she’d been called there? Could it be? “I did not mean any harm,” she spoke carefully, addressing the words to the Queen-mother. “I just thought–“ That Ser Dayne would not betray her secret? She’d hoped he mightn’t. “I thought he might be lonely.” What a lame explanation. Lyanna pursed her lips. “All alone up in that tower.”

“You are not being punished,” the older woman clarified. Her voice held no trace of warmth. Might be she was no capable of warmth. “The choice does belong to you. No one will be mad if you refuse, just as no one will be displeased should you agree. Need I point out you’ll have acquired a title? Lands of your own? A good amount of coin?” She stood. “It is a rare occurrence when one is allowed choice.”

“But he would have no choice,” Lyanna could not help but point out.

A sad smile flickered upon the mother’s face. “He doesn’t need any.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You cannot be serious.” Richard Lonmouth laughed until he began choking. Lyanna shot him an incredulous stare, along with a hit to the knee. “You little harpy,” the man muttered with a scowl, grabbing at her shoulders and pushing her away. “Just because the Queen-mother is mad is no cause to consider her plan as though it were sound.”

“My father allowed her to approach me with it. Presumably, he thinks it a sound plan as well.” She twisted uncomfortably to look over Richard’s shoulder once his eyes seared through the thin veneer she wore as shield.

“He was my friend.” Such simple words. A wealth of pain had been crammed behind them. It lurked just beneath the surface. Indeed, Lyanna almost thought she heard Richard’s voice crack with it. “He was a wonderful man. He would have been a wonderful king.”

Lyanna did not dispute his words. She hadn’t known Rhaegar Targaryen when he could do aught more than stare into the high ceilings. “He is not dead.”

“He might as well have been.” The light caught in her friend’s eye. Tears were such an uncommon sight on him. “I should have stayed by his side.”

“What good would it have done?” Everyone knew that story. “Those assassins were highly trained. Not even the Kingsguards stood a chance against them.” Case in point, the old King had died and his eldest son had nearly followed.

“I wouldn’t be able to stop you if you chose to wed him, of course,” Richard continued after a brief silence, “but I will have you know, I mean to be a constant thorn in your side until I am satisfied he is well looked after. He deserves at least that much.”   

Looking down at her hands, Lyanna curled her fingers inwards. “You already are a thorn in my side, Lonmouth.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She almost didn’t come to him that evening. Lyanna regarded the scroll in her lap with new eyes. It was a story she knew without having to read it. But it would be decidedly awkward to keep her eyes on him all the while she prattled on. Not that it was a poor sight. In fact, despite the unfortunate circumstances, the Prince had maintained much of his outward charm. But then she decided there was no point in hiding. The man did not know what was happening. So she did go to him scroll in tow. And she read him the story.

“And so,” Lyanna sighed, “the brave knight gave the beautiful lady away to the awaiting King.” And the maiden received a crown and forgot all about her knight. “This is truly a stupid story,” she told Rhaegar. “He saved her life.” Brushing the scroll aside she leaned over her silent companion and adjusted the pillow beneath his head. “The least she could do was ask the king to give him a handsome reward.”

Lyanna looked down into the man’s face. Had he been in full possession of his faculties, he would have undoubtedly been wed by now. He would have had children. They would have undoubtedly been very handsome children. Another sigh left her lips. “I want children,” she whispered to no one in particular. He would never answer. “That you cannot give me, for all your titles and coin.”

Pushing back, she regarded him with more detachment. “But you would be an exemplary husband. Kind, considerate, faithful. Invisible for all intents and purposes.” She’d be under no man’s thumb wedded to him. “And you could do worse than me. Lady Rhea has been telling me that one of her cousins has a daughter who is lame, poor thing. I don’t mean to disparage her, but you can imagine her prospects are somewhat thin, what with the Florent good looks to aid her alone. My point is, I am a decent catch. I have all my teeth, I am young; I can be persuaded to kindness.” And she was woefully unwilling to be any man’s property. “I would not be so much yours as you would be mine, I perceive.”

She sat back down in her chair, gaze sliding to the scroll lying forgotten on the floor. Richard’s words sounded in her mind. “You wouldn’t be very bothered by my presence, and I not at all by yours. It is a good match, Your Grace. My father shall have his chance to tell others House Stark has joined the other great houses in creating links to the royal family.”

Then she decided.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the end there was no fuss. The Queen-mother had simply nodded when receiving Lyanna’s answer. Her father had had the same reaction. She’d been given time to have her possessions moved to a chamber within Maegor’s Holdfast and have a few of her constant companions become her ladies-in-waiting. It was almost as though she were dreaming the whole of it.

“I told you the best outcomes come from reading to sleeping princes,” Rhea Florent laughed softly as she sat down next to Lyanna on a wide bench. Stray rays of sunshine played along the beaten path. “You are a most peculiar woman.”

“Why?” Scintillating conversations aside, Rhea was the first she’d told about her decision to take the Prince for husband after all and she had seemed genuinely pleased that Lyanna got her choice. She understood, might be in a way no one else had. “Ought I have wedded someone of my father’s choosing then?”

“That is what most maidens do.” And she did not begrudge them any of it, Lyanna thought, but she was not most maidens, it seemed that she could not be contented with such a fate. “But you already know that was not my point. I daren’t ask before, but were you hurt by Robert’s desertion?”

Here she laughed as well, loud and long, covering her mouth to hide her mirth out of habit. “I practically pushed him into her arms. I’ve never been gladder than when Lady Cassana wrote he would be wedding her after all. I wish him only joy and happiness. Wedded bliss.”

“Yet you would not wish the same for yourself.” It was a question. That much Lyanna surmised only after a few moments of considering the look upon Rhea’s face.

“I think we have very different definitions of it, Rhea, indeed, if you think I am not blissful in my choice.” Her earlier musings returned. The Queen-mother’s words joined in as well. “I do not think there has ever been a happier bride.” There was only a faint trace of mockery in those words. 

“What about children?” They’d often spoken of children. The ones they would have, how they’d bring them together.        

“Not all women are destined to be mothers.” Her lips stretched into a thin smile. “I will simply have to content myself with watching your children grow. Promise me you shall wed soon and bring your brood over when you’ve finally composed it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ser Arthur unfastened her cloak with careful movements and took it off of her shoulders as Richard Lonmouth spoke the words while Myles Mooton pushed another cloak towards him. It was a small affair, her wedding. Her father had had to leave and she was placed in the Queen-mother’s care who arranged for her to be wed by proxy. It did not escape her that all three men had been good friends of the Prince when he was yet himself. 

There was another participant. A man she’d not yet exchanged more than a brief nod with. Lyanna ignored that one for the most part, for it seemed to her he mourned the Prince more deeply than his companions. It was never a good idea to pry into the wounds of others.

The septon’s attention snapped to her. She muddled her way through the vows with a limp, faded smile. It would be over soon, she told herself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life fell into a pattern all of its own. It was so very easy for it to, after all. King’s Landing offered one the chance of orderly existence filled with small delights. It all suited Lyanna very well. Is there was anything which might assure her she’d made the right choice that was it. 

Mornings were reserved for solitary rides through the considerable space afforded to her. She was not truly alone, for one of the Kingsguards followed at all times. But the men knew to keep a discrete distance, thus the illusion of privacy remained undisturbed, allowing Lyanna to mentally wander through her day, making plans. She would return to check upon her husband. Not that she had any need for it; the man never moved an inch. But she asked of the servants to bring her hot water, soap and a razor. It was not much of a marriage and the small intimacy had seemed to her a paltry payment for what she received, but it was what she could give. Once done with that, she left him in the capable hands on the acolytes until came the time to see him again.

The rest of her day was spent with her ladies-in-waiting, spinning yarn and conversations. And when supper time came alone she sent them all off, insisting that she would be eating with her husband. Or rather, Lyanna fed him his meal and then ate hers before reading to him some old ballad or tale she found in a dusty corner of the library. She imagined, only fir a few moments each evening, that he might speak to her, laugh at the severe stupidity of Florian the Fool or even admire her cutting wit when she had cause to use it. He never did. So, at the end of the evening, she would cover him up to his chin and place a soft kiss to his cheek, in deference to custom.

His companions came to visit once in a while. His mother more often. The King himself was known to drop in from time to time; never his Queen though.

Naught disturbed the pattern. And naught ever would. Or so Lyanna imagined.

Until one fateful day.

It dawned like any other day might have before it. Lyanna never even suspected fate had a surprise in store for her. Thus she went about her usual preparations with nary a thought to her husband beyond the obligatory acknowledgement of his existence.

Her ignorance lasted well into the morning; until she had returned from her ride and a sharpened shaver blade was placed into her hand, a bow of steaming water and soap close by. Lyanna took her usual seat upon the left edge, testing the blade’s sharpness. Once satisfied, she put it aside and began washing Rhaegar’s face with a soft towel. Droplets of water sank down. She lathered his skin carefully and then rinsed her hands.

All it took was a moment. She turned to grab the shaver and then towards him.

Impossibly violet eyes, wide eyes, stared at her.    

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pressed in the Queen-mother’s embrace, Lyanna struggled to breathe and offer comfort at the same time. No one had ever held her quite as fiercely before. And she did not know what to say to the woman, except that she hadn’t done anything to deserve such praise as the ones heaped upon her.   

Rhaegar was most elusive for the following few days. Or rather Lyanna avoided being in his company. His newly awakened state was a matter the Grand Maester and his bevy of acolytes doggedly kept from sight, despite word having spread far and wide. Not even Lyanna was allowed to be near. She had simply sighed and complied with the demand. They were the ones knowledgeable in the arty of healing.

Rhea patted her hand gently as they took their supper together. “You’ll be back by his side in no time,” she assured with a knowing smile.  

Lyanna frowned at her. “My lady, I know not what you speak of.” She forked up a piece of meat and shoved it in her mouth.

Whether her companion was convinced or not, she couldn’t tell. But Rhea did not prod any further and Lyanna offered nothing else on her husband. Though, privately, she did acknowledge that the great disturbance in her usual pattern was not aught she relished. How much of her time did those fools wish to waste?

And then she could not help herself. “They think the knock to the head addled his wits.” Rhaegar had not spoken. Indeed, he’d given little sign he even knew where he was to begin with. A chill crept down Lyanna’s spine. “What am I going to do?”

She was, of course, free to ask for an annulment. The marriage had never been consummated and the gods knew if it ever would. But to leave him? It seemed unconscionable. To shame a man who could not defend himself; what sort of woman would that make her?

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“My lady, you cannot–“ The acolyte fell against the wall as she shoved her way past him. Lyanna flashed the man a cool look and drew herself up to her full height, and added a little to it by rising on her tiptoes.

“Do you think to order me?” she demanded in as firm a voice as she could muster. “I am going to see my lord husband and you are going to be quiet and allow me a few moments with him.” His protests never even registered to her until she stood in the middle of a sea of bloodied sheets, bearing witness to am incredible scene. “What is the meaning of this?”

The Grand Maester jumped away from his struggling patient, narrowing his eyes upon her. “Your Grace, no one is to step into this chamber.”

“Well I am someone and I should thank you to remember that,” Lyanna answered sharply, stepping over the sheets. “You will let me in and you will tell me what you are doing to _my_ husband or I _will_ have words with His Majesty.” She glowered when he failed to comply.

Pycelle trembled lightly, one hand coming up to swipe away at beads of sweat. “His Grace is agitated and we cannot properly care for him in such a state. A little bloodletting would drain the excess of humours.”

“And how many times have you applied this treatment to him?” Her palms were already itching. Lyanna locked her gaze onto the man upon the bed. Did he even know who she was? Could he understand her words? No answer was forthcoming from the older man. “Tell me, master,” she pressed nonetheless.

“The fourth time.” His begrudging admission was the last straw.

“Get out of this chamber.” For a brief moment she was not even sure it was her own voice that spoke. But surely it had to be for Pycelle started and began protesting. Lyanna would not fight with him. She squared her shoulders and called out, “Ser Dayne. Step in a moment.” The man came at her call, one hand upon Dawn. “The Grand Maester was just leaving. His helpers as well.”

“He will have a fit,” Pycelle warned of the patient. He might even grow violent.

“How violent can a man who's spent the last moon turns lying as the dead be?” she sneered implacably. “Out.” And this time her words were heeded.

Arthur Dayne lingered, eyeing the man as well. “You too, ser. Some things are better left private.” He did not argue.

Left alone with her spouse after a soft thud indicated the door had been closed, Lyanna surveyed her surroundings until her gaze returned to Rhaegar. He looked tense. And curious. “I am Lyanna,” she told him, using he gentlest voice she knew. He nodded. “We are wedded, you know?” His eyes narrowed, as though he could not quite make her out. “Richard signed the papers for you. Lonmouth, that is.”

His lips parted and moved. No sound came. Lyanna drew closer, holding her hands up and out, to show she meant no threat. Rhaegar did not flinch at her approach. His lips continued moving. Something like a whine tore from his throat and his eyes closed.

It struck her then, he was trying to speak.

“Wife.” It was barely a whisper.     

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The right side of his face was pressed into a small, warm bosom and words poured into his ear from above. Rhaegar would have found such behaviour peculiar any time of the day, even more so from this woman. Even more so given that he was not even supposed to be alive. Might be he wasn’t and this was some strange waiting hall. Her warmth seeped into him and his limbs thrummed with pain. A thousand small needles pressed into his skin.  

What had happened?

The woman let him go and pulled back. Lyanna she’d said her name was. Gently she helped him back against the pillows. “His Majesty will be so very pleased to see you.” His stomach squeezed painfully. The bastard had survived as well? “And your lady mother. Pycelle allowed no one in. You can understand me, can you not?” He did not give an answer.

The King could not still be alive; not his father at any rate. May, he would have never been wedded had the man survived; he would have been buried, if anything. Nay; Viserys must have assumed the throne as the next heir. His thoughts ran away from him.

Glancing at Lyanna he grimaced lightly. Did the woman ever shut up?      

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It all returned to him. To the last bloody detail. Did anyone else know? And would it matter if they did? What could be gained by exposing him now when he was just a ruin of a man? Rhaegar breathed in slowly, lying there in bed, wondering what in the seven hells he was going to do. He had a bloody wife. A woman he knew not at all. Whatever his course of action, it would be the height of folly to relax too soon.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
